


Peter Parker Vs The Common Cold

by EvilSlicey



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Irondad, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Peter Parker, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 11:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20375662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilSlicey/pseuds/EvilSlicey
Summary: Having enhanced senses and abilities simply means getting sick makes everything more debilitating. At least that is Peter Parker's experience.When Aunt May forgets to call him in sick for school Tony gets to experience Sick Peter first hand.





	Peter Parker Vs The Common Cold

Peter Parker had an eventful but relatively normal life and childhood.

Well ‘normal’ in that he was a fairly well-adjusted kid who was sociable and intelligent, inquisitive and kind. Less normal in the fact that he was the victim of more loss than most would have to deal with in a short period.

However, beyond losing his parents young then his uncle when he was older but still easily scarred by the event, Peter was like any other kid.

Which means Peter Parker got sick like any other kid.

It seemed every year he got ill at least twice, even if he got a flu vaccine. He was never sick for very long, usually about a week, and he never got bad enough to need a doctor (well except for that one time when he was eight and he had a fever of 105 and it turned out he had pneumonia). It was always so routine and uneventful that certain peculiarities quickly surfaced and were accepted as gospel before Peter became the hero known as Spider-man.

As Spider-man Peter healed faster, moved faster, was stronger and more agile than he ever was before.

But Peter Parker, a.k.a. Spider-Man was still susceptible to viruses and getting sick.

Which, if you asked Peter as he emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet for the 4th time that night, was kind of worse now than it was before. Now, with his enhanced senses, everything was turned up to eleven. Smells, sounds, tastes, and even the nightlight Aunt May had plugged in the hallway was too bright.

So, he wasn’t any sicker than he had been during other colds growing up, but he would willing tell you he was more miserable.

Well he would if he could be bothered to dig himself out of his blanket cocoon on the living room couch that he has disappeared into the night before.

Peter had a routine for when he was sick, one that he and May enacted with precession and efficiency the moment Peter woke up with a foggy head, running nose and twisting stomach. Ever spare blanket in the apartment were dragged out so he could wrap himself in them, every lose pillow propped up around him and the humidifier plugged in to prevent his sinus from punching him out. May had even ran to the corner store and came home with several gallons of orange juice for him, knowing that it was one of the few things he could keep down (when he had had his tonsil’s removed he had been in hell, as the only drinks they gave him made him sick and he wasn’t allowed orange juice) and gave him the remote control before she left for work.

She did forget to call him in sick however, so Peter was repeatedly tortured with the high pitch world ending cry of the phone ringing through the morning. He was too tired and wrapped up in his comforting cocoon to even try to untangle himself to answer the unholy beast. He wound up webbing it about five times before the school gave up.

Peter spent the morning dozing in and out as brightly colored cartoon characters jumped around on the screen and trying not to moan or cry from the pain caused by the sound of traffic outside. He didn’t even have his phone near him because he was worried about the sound of the device vibrating.

Peter was so out of it that when a knock came at the door, he didn’t notice it at all, the sound drowned by the ambient noise around him already. It wasn’t until some kind of next gen high tech lock picking device had sent a high pitch whirling noise through the barrage of torturous noise that Peter peaked his head out from his blankets to stare blankly at the door.

The door that swung open a few seconds later to reveal Tony Stark standing in the doorway.

Who stopped in his tracks to stare at the cocooned Peter, who in turn stared back in confusion, trying to figure out why Mr. Stark was there and if he was awake or not.

Tony was the one to break the stalemate entering the apartment, with a small detour to close the door, which seemed odd to Peter, before cautiously approaching Peter.

“Underroos? You okay?” Tony sounded almost nervous as he looked over Peter and started typing on a holographic interface on his wrist.

“Mr. Stark? What are you doing here?” Peter’s voice warbled and cracked, sounding high and weak from the confines of his cocoon.

“The school called me didn’t show up and they couldn’t get in touch with May. Are you Ok? Where you hurt? Friday! Full medical scan of Peter Parker.” A tiny drone launched from Tony’s wrist device and started flying around the teen while bombarding him with blue lights.

“Mr. Stark. I’m fine” Peter whined as he made a feeble swat at the little drone.

“Boss, Peter appears to have an elevated body temperature, swollen glands and lymph nodes, inflamed sinuses and an increased white blood cell count. Diagnosis: The common cold. I recommend rest and fluids.”

“What that’s it?” Tony looked torn between relief and panic as he crotched down by Peter’s side to look him over. “No broken bones? Torn ligaments? Bruises?”

“Peter seems to be excellent physical health despite his cold Boss.”

“Oh, thank God.” Tony collapsed on to the couch next to Peter’s feet and let out a loud puff air like he had been holding his breath until then. “Man, kid you had me worried.”

“Worried?” Peter stared at the slumped back man in total confusion, his brain working in overdrive as Tony seemed to slowly relax. Finally, his thoughts were able to cut through the haze of his fever and realization hit him, making him struggle to sit up in a close simile to proper to look at the clearly concerned and relieved man. Peter fought back a smile when he confirmed his suspicion and slumped back into his pillows.

“I’m fine.” Peter murmured as he squeezed his eyes closed, the light feeling like needles. He fidgeted with the edge of one of his blankets, wanting to pull it over his head but not wanting to seem rude. “You can go.”

Tony finally sat up and frowned at the young man in his bedding nest. He looked around the living room for the first time since he got there and leaned over to cup Peter’s chin and pull his face up for examination.

“I don’t think your OK. I mean I am no expert, in any way, when it comes to colds. Pepper once had to tie me to a bed when I had the flu and kept trying to pole dance. But I’m pretty sure you’re not OK. Where is May?”

“She had work.” Peter croaked and cracked open one of his eyes to peer at Tony. His head was pounding and he just wanted to bury himself back under his blankets.

“Well, do you need anything?” Tony looked around at the empty orange juice jug and the TV with muted cartoons dancing across the screen. He missed the little flinch on Peter’s face as he started clearing away any trash around him.

Peter couldn’t keep back his building pain anymore and let out a high-pitched moan.

“Kid? You alright there?” Tony sounded like he was torn between running from help and throwing Peter of his shoulder and running him to the hospital full sprint.

“I just wish it wasn’t so bright and loud!” Peter whined before he gave in and pulled his blankets back over his head. Tony could only gap at the now fully encompassed superhero for a few minutes before he sat down next to him again and rested a hand on his knee.

“Everything is just dialed up a bit to high, isn’t it kid?” Tony asked softly, purposefully lowering his voice to an almost whisper. Peter didn’t even peek his head out, just nodding through the fabric. Tony patted his knee reassuringly and stood up swiftly, disappearing from the room. Peter could still hear his footsteps as he moved around but was too sick and miserable to wonder what he is doing.

Tony returned in a blink, making Peter wonder if he was drifting in and out of wakefulness.

“Ok Underroos, I need you poke your head out of there.” Peter whined in response and buried himself deeper. “Come on, don’t make me excavate you.”

Peter took a minute to decide if there was any way he could avoid leaving his blanket safe haven. When he realized that baring him rolling off and worming away he was trapped, he gave in. Not that it wasn’t tempting.

Slowly Peter pulled back the blankets to blink at Tony dubiously. He was startled to find him holding his suit’s mask with an expected look.

“My mask? Mr. Stark?” Peter croaked with a bit of confusion and a bit of amusement.

“Designed, by me, for you, to help filter and dull sounds and sights. Put on.”

Peter groaned and reluctantly took the ridiculously light piece of fabric and when Tony glared at him finally pulled it over his head. Instantly the constant over baring sounds that had been torturing him for the better part of the morning disappeared and the lights seemed to dim to a more acceptable and livable level. He straightened up a bit in surprise, looking around the room and sighing when the act didn’t fill him with pain.

He opened his mouth to thank Tony only to be cut off by a familiar voice.

“Hello Peter. Do we have a mission?” Karen happily chimed in, pulling up her augmented reality Hud for his built-in eye pieces.

“Uh, no Karen. I’m sick. Mr. Stark gave me my mask to help with my headache.” Peter was grateful for mask hiding his blush.

“You named the AI Karen?” Tony looked amused.

“Uh…”

“Do you need me to order you something Peter? Mr. Stark gave me access to the Stark Industries accounts and the ability to order you equipment and supplies.” Karen asked sounding concerned and motherly, a little display on the side of his HUD seemed to be showing a diagnostic that Peter could almost read but was moving so quickly that even an attempt to try brought his headache back.

“Karen!” Peter whined with a flinch that made Tony snicker before he stood up and disappeared from the teen’s sight.

“Yes Peter?” Karen sounded amused and made Peter want to crawl back into his cocoon. He momentarily hated Tony for his sense of humor.

“I don’t need anything but quiet. Can you… go to sleep or something?” Peter had a moment pang of guilt at the request, which was then shot through with annoyance when he heard Tony’s previous snicker turn into a full-blown laugh. Peter loved Karen, and Tony, but he was finally not feeling like all of New York was doing the polka on his brain and would like to enjoy it.

“All you had to do is ask Peter. I’ll will be continuing monitoring your vitals, but I can do that without directly engaging you until you need me. Please feel better soon.” Karen’s voice was saccharine and bubbling with a hint of a laugh but suddenly Peter could feel her ‘stepping away’. His HUD disappeared and the eye pieces on his mask became just another set of goggles, the only sounds he could hear where Tony banging around and shuffling back and forth in the kitchen and for a few brief seconds he enjoyed the normal (though he was still sick) feeling of the world by leaning back against the arm rest and taking a few deep breaths.

Then Tony opened a cupboard and closed just a touch to loud.

“Uh… Mr. Stark?” Peter asked tentatively as he slowly disengaged from his blanket cocoon and sat up on his knees to watch Tony over the back of the couch. He was dumbfounded to see Tony setting bowls and cans on the table while examining the table of something in a box that Peter couldn’t remembering being potatoes or something with rice. Tony hadn’t even looked up when Peter had spoken to him, his lips even moving as he continued to read. “What-uh-what are you doing? Mr. Stark. Sir.”

Tony put the box back on the table and moved to the cupboard that had pancake mix, a few box cake mixes, and other baking supplies with a few recipes for cookies and brownies taped on the inside, May’s tight hand written notes in the margin looking smudge from the times she ran her fingers along them. He grabbed the pancake mix and closed the door before turning to Peter.

“I’m making you something to eat.”

The words were said dismissively, and Tony promptly turned back to his examination of the food in Peter’s kitchen leaving Peter staring at him and happy that the mask on his face hid the look of shock on his face. Then his stomach turned at the thought of even one pancake being placed in front of him.

“You don’t have to do that Mr. Stark. Really.” Peter begged as he gagged a little and leaned his head against the back of the couch to take a few deep, settling breaths. He had to repeat the words ‘He won’t make me eat pancakes. He won’t make me eat pancakes.’ Over and over again to himself to make the watery mouth feeling reside but he could still focus on what Tony was saying because of his enhanced hearing.

“You need to eat, or your body won’t have the energy to heal. So I am going to make you something, you’re going to eat it and then, once you settle down for a nap, I’ll call your school and let them know you won’t be going in for the rest of the week.” Tony held up a box that Peter, who could feel the color drain from his face under the mask as his stomach flip flopped at the sight of it, recognized as a “Just Add ‘X’” meal in a box and looked it curiously. “Now would you like … Taco Casserole? Or Pancakes?”

The just the names of the two food choices was enough to push Peter over the edge. In the span of a few seconds he had slammed a hand over his mask covered mouth, vaulted over the couch with agility and grace he would be amazed about later and bolted to the bathroom. He whispered a small prayer of thanks as he made it to the toilet and got the mask up over his nose before he lost the meager contents of his stomach.

He spent the next few minutes clutching the cool porcelain of the toilet as he took weak and watery breaths that slowly got steadier and deeper as he tried to calculate the volume of various buildings he liked to climb, the amount of web fluid he would need to build a web that covered the whole Stark Industries/Avenger’s tower, how fast he could travel if double web slinged from one end of Manhattan to the other, anything to get his mind off his stomach off what just happened. When his breath finally evened out and the desire to purge died down again, he realized that the white noise that had been flooding his ears was really Tony speaking to him more softly and comforting than he ever had before. And he was rubbing his back. Which felt nice.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” He slurred as finally loosened his grip and rocked back on to his heels and against Tony’s chest feel wiped out and ready to crawl into his blankets to sleep. He shivered when Tony tested him against his leg and seemed to be examining him with a bit of worry.

“I asked you if you needed anything.” Tony said with a bit of relief when he realized that Peter was just tired and not dying in his arms.

“M okay Mr. Stark. Just… no food please…” Peter whimpered and gulped as the thought of food made his stomach perk up to attention and threaten him.

“Pete. You have to eat.” Tony said slowly as he pulled Peter up to his feet and leaned him against the sink where he proceeded to wipe his mouth with a wet washcloth and offer him a cup of water. “Here, rinse your mouth and then take a few sips.”

Peter obeyed, smiling when he caught a glance of himself, dressed in an oversized Nicola Tesla t-shirt that was falling off one shoulder, his Spider-Man mask half on his face and Tony’s hand worriedly holding his shoulder like he was sure the young hero was going to collapse at any minute. It was a ridiculous scene but felt appropriate for what his life was now. Then he whined because the thought of the suggestions Tony had made previously felt like a punch to the stomach.

“I will eat. I just… not that. Any of it.” Peter added the last bit when he saw the question on Tony’s face and quickly finished the last of the water before he pulled his mask back down so he could hide a bit as he leaned against the sink to get the ‘Stomachs! Revolt!’ feeling to die back down again.

Tony looked annoyed, like Peter was a puzzle he wasn’t allowed to work on and kept having pieces taken away from him. He was kind enough to wait for Peter to straighten up again, and sway and lean against his warmer and more stable body before saying anything.

“Well if none of those options work what-“

Before Tony could finish a voice called out from the living room.

“Peter! I brought you- Peter? Where are you?”

A few seconds later May was standing in front the open bathroom door. Staring at them. At Peter in his Spider-Man mask leaning against a now embarrassed looking Tony like he was the only thing keeping him upright. Which was 100% true but still… not exactly something Peter was proud about. Aunt May on the other hand was an angel who knew that taking care of a sick child was more important than the who what and whys of the scene in front of her.

“Peter. Why are you off the couch? I asked you stay there. You know you get dizzy when you have a fever.” May gently peeled Peter away from Tony and started steering him out of the bathroom and back to his waiting nest of blankets he was already longing to wrap around himself.

“I had to… I got sick.” Peter murmured as he collapsed on the soft reclaimed safe haven and made appreciative noises when May started packing pillows around him and layer the blankets on his body as he had started to realize that he was actually freezing to death in their absences. Or so his fever addled brain claimed.

“Really? You are usually so good when your sick.” May look concerned and touched the edge of his mask. “Is this helping? Or hurting?”

“Helping. Mr. Stark was going to cook me something for lunch.” Peter explained as he relaxed and felt consciousness starting to ebb away as his body accepted that he was safe and comfortable.

“What?!” May turned on Tony, who had followed them into the living room with a bit of concern on his face and leveled him with a death glare that made the billionaire step back. “What were you thinking?!”

“The kid is sick! He needs to eat!” Tony defended himself as he tried to decide what his best route of escape was.

“Peter can’t keep anything down when he is sick. Only orange juice, Italian Wedding soup, toast; multigrain and dry as brick, and apple sauce! He once even threw up a banana I tried to feed him!” May exclaimed before moving back to Peter. “Do you want me to get you something for your stomach?”

Peter slowly shook his head and yawned.

“Why are you even here?” May spit at Tony as she moved to the kitchen, undoing what the man had done earlier.

“The school called me, because on their records I’m on there as a contact due to his ‘internship’. I was worried he was injured.”

Peter started toning out the pair as he let sleep wash over him, the feeling of almost being normal letting his body relax. The click of plates, soft sound of cupboard doors opening and closing and the soft thumps of everything Tony had taken out in his hunt for food earlier under the soft murmur of their voices were a lullaby that his fever addled brain clung to as a safety net for his sleep.

Peter didn’t know how long he slept in his floaty haze when he felt a hand touch his shoulder.

“Karen? How’s he doing?” Tony’s voice made Peter fight against the warmth of sleep to focus on what he was saying.

“His fever has broken, Boss, his breathing is better, and he seems to be waking up.” Karen’s voice surprised Peter by not only projecting out from his mask but speaking in a soft comforting whisper. He wondered if he and her could talk without him wearing the mask in the future and, the uncomfortable part of his brain that had to find something to worry about added, how much Karen had seen from his closet. Then another thought popped into his head dragging him from his sleep to speak.

“How come your ‘Boss’ and I’m just Peter?” He croaked, his throat cry and his mouth suddenly a desert.

“Because I made her. It was ‘Boss’ or ‘Dad’.” Tony joked as he moved back away to let Peter sit up. “How you feeling there kid?”

“Better.” Peter smiled and looked around. “Where’s May?”

“She left about an hour ago, had to go back to work. I wanted to make sure you ate before I left.”

Those words made Peter suddenly notice the change in the room, a bowl of soup, a jug of orange juice and a plate of probably rapidly cooling toast sitting on the coffee table. He smiled and blushed when he noticed a jar of apple sauce on the end table nearest to Tony, like it was his emergency option. Which it probably was.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.” Peter grabbed the juice, and after he pulled his mask up again after almost slamming the opening into the cloth, and took a long chug relishing the taste and the feeling of liquid coating his throat. He then noticed that Tony was watching him intently and blushed.

“I promise I’ll eat Mr. Stark, you don’t uh… you don’t have to watch me.” Peter mumbled as he reached for a piece of toast which was satisfyingly crunchy.

“I know I don’t have to watch you.” Tony said with a fidget.

“Then why are you here still? Don’t you have something you need to do? Some terrorist to route out or… a new suit to build.”

Tony laughed and leaned back.

“Probably but nothing that needs me to handle it right now.” Tony grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels.

“I’m fine. Really. I don’t need a babysitter.” Peter fought back his whine and was royally grateful that his face was covered because he was sure he looked like a kicked puppy. He liked the idea of spending time with Tony but didn’t want him thinking he had to take care of him.

“Look, Kid, I came here because I worried about you and I can’t leave until I know you are fine. So do you want watch a movie or something? I think _Breakfast Club_ is about to come on.”

Peter smiled and grabbed his bowl of soup to eat it in his nest.

“Is that the one with song from _Pitch Perfect_?” He asked as he took a testing spoonful of his soup and sighed when the familiar taste of soup exploded in his mouth.

“Wait, have you never seen _Breakfast Club_?” Tony looked mildly offended at the suggestion and Peter could only shake his head as he sipped his soup straight from the bowl. “Oh, this will not stand. Make sure your comfortable, we are having a John Hughes movie marathon.”

Peter smiled and shifted so that he was facing the TV where the movie was starting and closer to Tony. He felt warm and safe when Tony placed his hand on his shoulder and shifted closer so him. Peter hadn’t felt anything like this since he had lost Uncle Ben and it was really nice.

When May came home that night with couple of take out bags of Italian food and fresh soup for Peter she found the two superheroes sleeping there on the couch, Peter’s head resting in Tony’s lap as he snored lightly though his still present mask, Tony’s fingers threaded through his hair under the mask and his head lulled to side as his snored joined Peter’s. The woman simply smiled and tucked a blanket around the billionaire’s shoulder before moving to server herself some dinner and go through some paperwork she brought home with her.

And for at least a moment their lives where quiet and manageable.


End file.
